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Drunk on a random Tuesday

Again, spoiler alert... this has to do with a mom-over. It’s not a hangover, because you cannot deal with a night of drinking in the same way pre-children.

Mom-OVER : Quite possibly the worst day of your life. You know it is about to happen the second you open those over tired eyes, and wonder how you could possibly feel this bad.

Normally, most things ache when I get up in the morning. I flop out of bed to get a crying tiny human from her crib. I waddle back to my warm bed, and pray she wants to snuggle for a little while.

SHE NEVER WANTS TO SNUGGLE.

Today, I call for husband to grab her, because I was afraid I would drop her. Being that the world was spinning so rapidly, I knew he was the right person for the job.

So, there are obvious struggles with caring for children when you’re Mom-over.

Thank god my mom is retired and answered my phone call as I begged her to come over, telling her I was sick.

Mommies will always run to their sick babies, and I was rather ill.

I confess when she walks in, and I tell her about my terrible hangover. I tell her that I have been unable to contain the water I so desperately need, because my body is pressing the auto-reject button the second it hits my stomach.

She tells me to go to bed, and plays with the tiny human for a while as I sleep.

I know you’re thinking that this is unfair. I agree. I’m lucky my mother is able to come over and save me, but don’t worry there is a plot twist.

My daughter is at the stage where she hates her diaper being changed. It’s always a lot of fun to tussle with a tiny human when her poop is out in the open and close to getting on you.

I hear her screaming during a diaper change, and I feel capable of walking into her room. My mom is frantically searching for diaper cream as her tiny hoo hoo is red.

I realize the “butt paste” has become old, but decide to throw some on anyway.

FAST FORWARD: Mom leaves, and I’m still fighting my mom-over.

Tiny human poops again. Shocking. I just wipe up shit all day.

I shuffle to her room, fight the good fight, and realize her little hoo hoo is bright red.

I blame the next chapter of events on my mom-over because I’m not quite capable of thinking and trying to hold down a little bit of soda (pop) at the same time.

I figured I would put her in an Epsom salt bath to help sooth her little junk.

I place her in the water and she doesn’t being to play. “Odd” I thought. She just sits there for a little and then starts crying and saying mama. I pull her out and hold her as she screams.

Still, I’m unaware of my foolish, horrible choice.

To the changer we go, and I realize her tiny parts are incredibly inflamed now. I race with a naked, screaming baby to grab the oil I’ve been using on her face to clean up her drool rash. I put some on with a layer of petroleum jelly and begin to panic.

Ok for real…

I PANIC! aka I call husband, tell him of my stupidity, and ask for advice.

He tells me check it in 10 minutes to ensure it doesn’t get worse, and get diaper cream stat.

What do I do?

You guess it! I CALL MY MOM!!!!!!!! HelP HeLp HELP!!!

My mom says she will grab it and be right over.

Once here, she asks “why would you put salt on a wound?”

OMG! She’s right!!!!

What fucking mother puts salt on their child’s wound? What kind of monster would subject their tiny human to that kind of torture?

Me. Stupid hungover me!

OH fuck, I didn’t even think about it like that!!!!! I figured it would be a relaxing relief, not Chinese torture.

So now, tiny human is asleep for her nap, and I will nurse my mom-over with some Ramen soup. Clearly, not my usual lunch choice, but I need to be back on point to take care of a tiny human properly.

Sometimes I wonder how they just let people take children home without proper education. FML.